


Carry Me Back Home

by Moon_Raccoon_exe



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Day 5, Final Fantasy XV Spoilers, Five Times Gladio Carried Ignis and 1 Time Ignis Carried Gladio, From Brotherhood to Older Gladnis, Gladnis Week 2017, Heavy Angst, I Made Myself Cry, I accidentally broke my own heart with this, I am actually super proud of this one, I would like to apologize but won't, It Gets Worse, M/M, Mentioned at least - Freeform, POV First Person, Please Don't Hate Me, Please be careful there's very heavy angst, Sex, Story Swings Between Happy And Sad, Then Worse Again, Through All Eras, What Have I Done, gets NSFW, starts with fluff, then fluffy again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-12 00:13:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12947106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moon_Raccoon_exe/pseuds/Moon_Raccoon_exe
Summary: [For Gladnis Week 2017, Day 5][Prompt: 5 times Gladio carried Ignis, and 1 time Ignis carried Gladio]Following Gladio and Ignis' relationship through the years, from childhood to adulthood, Ignis speaks about the most iconic times that Gladiolus carried him and compares them to the only time he's returning the favor.Please, be careful, major angst warning.Also I don't apologize.Also I am super proud of this one.





	Carry Me Back Home

**Author's Note:**

> It's the first time I work with First Person P.O.V. for this fandom. An apology if you don't like that; it seemed appropiate for the writing style.
> 
> One last warning, I'm not sure if it's only me but I think this is major angst so please be careful ;_____;
> 
> I am actually super proud of this one. Please, do let me know what you think, it'd mean lots to me. :)

Five times you carried me, and only once did I return the favor. 

Five times, of course, counting only the most significant times; had I counted each and every time that you carried me, I would have the head so full of numbers I could probably discover a new one. You always had a particular passion for picking me up, especially after that time in our youth when I told you I hated it. I loved it too, but I too had a particular passion for messing with you in my own way. There are countless places and moments in these lands and this timeline of the universe where and when you decided it would be a good moment to carry me; sometimes out of necessity, sometimes for pleasure, and most of times for mere fun. But now that I stop to philosophy about it for a moment, and if I had to summarize only the most important of those times that you carried me, I would say they were five.

Five times did you carry me in a particularly important event of our lives, seen as most if not all these times that I’m counting not only involved both of us but also affected us in similar if not the same ways, our caused a great impact each their own way. I’m pretty positive that, among all the thousands, millions of times that you picked me off the ground, you too would end up choosing the same five that I have chosen if I asked you to tell me which would be the most significant ones for you.

And every time you’d mention one, I would smile and agree, and we would stop to talk on each of our choices, and number them in chronological order.

The first time that you carried me you were fourteen. I don’t believe I was ever too short for my age, but you, my dear, you were always much taller and bigger for yours. I could easily pass as twelve and you could go as sixteen, if it wasn’t due to your still too childish face features. I had always felt intimidated in your presence, or just glancing your way; the incredibly tall and strong older kid, always keeping watch and training. That’s why I hadn’t dared get close to you or befriend you; I felt intimidated just glancing your way, and I must add the fact that I always thought you looked incredibly stunning in that uniform of your teenage years. I couldn’t even dare look at you. I was afraid of you, in some way.

That day, a little pebble made it into my shoe, except I had close to no idea; it was small and fitted in between my big and index toes so that it went mostly unnoticed. For my terrible immediate luck but my not-as-immediate blessing, the pebble made it out of its hideout right as I was going down a staircase in a messenger task around the Citadel. I had very dumb feet and I had the entire opposite to the grace or skills that Crownsguard training would give me in a couple more years; when the pebble decided to sneak right under my sole, I stepped on it and harmed my own foot, and like it had not been enough, the immediate reflex of the body as reaction to the pain had me stumbling and losing balance, and I ended up falling and rolling down the rest of the way downstairs.

I was too focused in the piercing pain of my ankles and from the hits across all my body, too focused in all this physical pain that I did not hear you approach, and only noticed you there when you were already at my side.  
“Dear Six, are you okay, buddy?” even though I too had always felt intimidated by your voice, I was paining too much to think about anything else but how much I needed or wanted someone there. I looked up to find you down on a knee in front of me, stunning in your uniform, frowning and looking at me with worry. “That looked bad.”  
“A-apologies…” I let out, putting my head down again and pulling myself up onto my knees, only to find that as soon as I moved your hands had finally decided to get a gentle grip of me to help or guide me.  
“No, not that kind of bad” you seemed to smile, but there was no fun in it, only some sort of sympathy. “I mean that it must have hurt. Are you okay?”  
“Ah” now that I had finally processed who I was talking to, I switched to inhibition and lowered the head, thankful for having dropped the papers as they could serve me of excuse not to look at you while I gathered them. “It’s okay. I’m fine…”

And you, however, started helping me in the task. You reached for as many papers as you could and helped me gather them in one bunch. It was quiet for a moment, and then you tried to help me stand up.  
I couldn’t.  
As soon as I stood on a sole, a piercing pain made me wince and whine, and I returned back down to the floor. And you returned there with me, not letting go but not forcing me to stay on my feet. I sighed a trembling ‘Gods…’ and focused with all my might not to burst into tears in front of you. I already felt intimidated because you were so big and so amazingly skilled and strong, the least I wanted from some of your first impressions was to think me a weakling. 

“You okay, buddy?” You asked once more, and even though I tried I couldn’t give you an answer. “What is it? The ankle?” Despite your looks, your voice was incredibly soft both in color and dynamic, and it felt comforting and welcoming. I couldn’t answer verbally, so I nodded. “I see. Had you broken something you’d possibly be screaming, so thank the gods it’s not the case, but still, it must be very bad.”

I let go of the finger that I was biting onto and relaxed a little. It was then that you put one of your gloved hands to my shoulder. When I turned to look at you, you looked serious but innocent.  
“Say, the infirmary isn’t too far” you said and then you got closer, slipping one of your arms under my knees and the other around my shoulders. “At least you had luck in that!”  
And it was then that you did it.  
You picked me off the ground, as easy as if I weighted the same than a feather. I didn’t even need to hug or hold you back for support.  
I let out a little sound entirely out of surprise, though you could have confused it with some discomfort from my injury. You quietly apologized but smiled brightly at me. All that I could do was blink, mouth open and disbelief everywhere inside me.

You started walking, and almost by reflex I said something about my papers. You brushed it off saying you’d pick them later for me, and the rest of the way to the infirmary was quiet.  
I still couldn’t believe it. For an odd reason, Gladiolus Amicitia, the tall and incredible, wonderful older kid, was carrying me and treating me like an equal and even better. The boy I feared turned to not be a scary behemoth, rather a big and soft teddy bear. I almost felt pampered and cared for. I almost felt a little loved, in a way I could not understand. All my life I had assumed you disliked me for being as opposite to you. But you behaved like a guardian with me. I was not your prince, but I felt like one with the knightly treatment you gave me. 

You never mentioned to me that you got awfully reprimanded for dropping your watch spot and hence breaking your formation as a soldier, by Clarus the Shield, and metaphorically rewarded for showing so much kindness to an ally, by Clarus your father, but I found out anyway. 

 

The second time that you carried me is very far away from the first one. After we ‘met’, I lost most of my fear towards you, and all that intimidation transformed into absolute admiration. You had turned from a dangerous demon into a soldier angel that I admired and looked up to. You inspired me to join Crownsguard, you inspired me to become a better version of myself in more ways than the physical. And you were attracted by that good vibe I had started to radiate. Inevitably, like magnets, we started approaching each other just to hang and befriend.

The years passed, each day we grew more intimate, we grew taller and older, and our bond grew with us. It went from platonic to a stable friendship, to best friending, and into a brotherhood.  
And yet it continued to grow. Until our bond skipped past the border of Friendship and started shyly stepping into the zone of Romance.  
And we started getting stupid in front of each other. I stared at you instead of the exam we were supposed to be solving; you stared at me more than you read books; we grew flustered in front of each other, and we would go nuts and a blushing mess if somebody teased us about being a couple.  
I grew sick of not being able to focus in my work because of your stupidly gorgeous grin and eyes invading my head all the time. I confessed. Unexpectedly to me, you confessed back.  
We went out in a date. For my surprise, we went out in a second. A third, a fourth, a fifth and a sixth, and then we shared our first kiss together.  
And then we held hands when we walked together, and we hugged more often, continued dating until it turned into an official and stable relationship.  
And then the months passed, with a romance that grew as we did; it grew from the puppy love that it started as and step by step it developed.

And then we had spent a year together. We were left alone in your house, and we didn’t plan it. It was as unexpected on you as it was on me. We kissed and kissed, but it was suddenly not enough. And we ended up in your room, on your bed. You had half-stripped me, and I had half-stripped you. We were mature enough to know we couldn’t and didn’t have to go all the way, because we were not prepared, neither physically or mentally, and because it had been unplanned and we had no protection. But that didn’t stop us from digging into intimacy; from biting on our lips, from making-out while we jerked each other off, from grinding against one other. You allowed me to take the pace on top of you, and then we touched each other, lost the breath, stared at each other until we had to close the eyes and throw the head back almost at the same time. 

And since then, we started exploring into our sexuality together. Handjobs that led to dry humping that led to oral sex, until we started exploring with penetration, too. And oh, there were awkward and silly moments, and some painful ones too, but it was all so dearly worth it and I would never change them for the world.  
We continued exploring and doing it until it became usual.  
And then the years passed.  
We lived a fully healthy relationship that had the perfect balance between sweetness, care, sex and friendliness. We experimented and explored through many aspects of our sexual life both together and on our own.  
But it was when I was twenty and you were twenty one that we first did it like that.

Like the first time we got intimate, it was not planned. Unlike that first time, we were now very well acquaintance with sex and a few different practices. Yet, we had never thought about trying this new thing until we were already doing it.  
You had to leave for two weeks with some other Crownsguard members to camp somewhere nearby the outside of the Wall, and we had already spent another two without intercourse because, at first, we didn’t have any particular desire to, and then we had gotten too busy to have any time for it. Which left us on a month without sex, in an age where one as a male with a longtime and stupidly attractive (not to say very well endowed) boyfriend has it hard to keep the hormones content. No matter what I did to myself, it wasn’t your hands or other body parts and I was missing you in many more ways than just the sweet one.

And you were not much better than I. After a good while with Noctis and Prompto and when we got to my place, it was a miracle we didn’t just drop in the hallway to my apartment. You pressed me to the door as soon as we closed it, and even if you hadn’t I had already reached for you to pull you against me anyway. You muttered something about being glad that you weren’t the only one as desperate, and I tried to make a sarcastic comeback denying myself to be in such state, but I was so... _desperate_ that I swallowed my pride and silently accepted it. We furiously undressed each other, tongues and teeth and lips destroying each other, and we tried to make it to my room. We dropped a few books and fell onto a table in the way, and still tried to reach our destiny.

I pulled out a condom and lube from a drawer of the living room. I had already asked you to take the dominant role, and you lost no time; you took the things from me from behind and poured lube in the crack between my ass cheeks, starting to caress my soft entrance while slipping the condom on at the same time. I leaned against the wall and you started fingering me, but got too impatient after a moment; you pulled your fingers out and grabbed my hips, but I stopped you and told you I wanted to see you. You turned me around, said Fine and picked one of my legs up. I let you. Taller than me, it got a little awkward despite my great flexibility that allowed to rest my ankle on your shoulder. I had to still hold to you and stand full on my free tiptoe, and while it would work, it was awkward. But we did not want to wait; you growled, reached down, and picked my other leg up as well.

And you were carrying me. Almost fully naked, legs spread open, and needy. You hooked my legs on your arms, and guided my hips until the tip of your member rubbed against my entrance. I moaned out in pleasure and let you guide me all the way to the bottom. 

All that it took was that; I threw the head back and groaned hoarsely. It felt stunningly _delicious_. We had done this in many other positions, but never before had we done it like this, with you standing, carrying me, my legs hooked onto your arms and my hands on your neck. The angle and position were allowing you to reach deep inside me and poke places you had only rubbed at before. It felt so fantastic I asked, I _begged_ for more. And you started moving. Your hands held my hips in place, and I was marveled at how easy it was for you to carry me; I was no skinny teenager anymore, I was a fully grown and worked-out man. But, darling, you have always been too tall for your age, too strong. It was simple for you to keep me in that position and move your hips at the same time. We maintained eye contact most of the time, and your hips went full animal mode; fast, rough, raw, out of instincts and hungry of sex.

You stopped only for a moment, in which you moved my ankles one by one so instead of staying on the air, you had them rest against your shoulders. My flexibility allowed us such position with no troubles, and the position allowed you to go even _deeper._ Right when I thought I couldn’t be more full, you could bury yourself so deep inside I growled out a raw sound of pleasure and got very close to reaching my orgasm. I begged, and begged more, and a bit more desperately. All you were doing was to stare at me, grab my hips so hard you left a few bruises, and continued slamming into me like both our lives depended on trying to break me in half.

We did make it to the bedroom, but not the bed. We seemed to have fallen in love with this new position that we had discovered, and all that you did was press me against a wall that we used instead of the mattress. This support allowed you to both get in even _deeper_ and to have a firm support for you to move faster. I’m sure I was screaming by this point; your weight was all on me as you pressed me against the wall, my legs were spread open and hooked again with your arms, I was hugging you as tightly as I could by the neck, and I lost senses even before reaching my orgasm; I only wanted more and that was all that I was thinking and asking for. You were moaning, almost screaming into my ear like you were the one on the receiver side, and continued slamming your hips at a speed, angle and force we hadn’t experienced before. 

The orgasm that waved onto us was so fantastic that we dropped on the floor and cuddled there for about an hour, entirely speechless, too weakened and too loose and too marveled to get on the bed that was a few feet from us. It would be, for a few couple years more, the best orgasm we had ever experienced. 

It was not the first time we had sex, but it was the first time an orgasm had me pass out for at least some moments, the first time we tried that position, and the moment we discovered one of our absolute favorite positions. 

 

The third of the most important times that you carried me was not as joyful as the previous ones.  
You had carried me in our youth out of mere fun, some times to help me when I twisted an ankle or got hurt from Crownsguard training, many times for our sexual enjoyment, and ninety percent of the times just to mess with me or to pamper me. You had carried me to some bedroom like I was your prince and you were my knight, you had carried me to a sofa, wrapped in a blanket, you had carried me to be playful and spin around (and sometimes to drop me on a bunch of fallen leaves or blankets, and once or twice onto the floor), you had carried me just so ‘I wouldn’t have to use my beautiful feet’, to not walk onto puddles of water (even though I always complained I could just round it), to get me away of work when you thought I was overdoing it, or to pat my ass cheeks. 

During our journey across Lucis, you had carried me after or during a battle to a safe spot so I could have time to use a potion and heal, you had carried me after a particularly long day, you had done it so to make me laugh, a few times to throw me into a lake or into the sea, and a few times you carried me away of camp or away of Noctis and Prompto to find and spend some time together.  
But this one time, the third in the most important ones, it was to save my life.

I was majorly injured. I often denied I was in pain even when it was true, but in that moment I was fully aware that this was major, too fragile, and that I almost gave up the ghost. I was aware that I was too injured and that the most probable was that I would last only a few minutes more. But that consciousness only made me push myself even further; if those were my last moments, then I could bring my king and brother a few steps closer to safety, even if only two steps, even if only half a step.  
My face bled in alarming quantities, the left side more than anything. Everything hurt to the point it was both torture and absolute numbness at the same time, as senseless as it sounds. Everything burnt, and my left hand was starting to feel literally on fire.  
Literally unable to open (or _feel_ ) the eyes, bleeding, and majorly injured, I was carrying Noctis to my back and trying to continue walking away of the spot where I lamentably had to let go of Lunafreya’s body and where I faced and miserably failed to defeat the Chancellor. 

I gave a step, trembling. Two, three, and each felt like an eternity and a whole life of effort to give. The ring was going to set me on fire if I didn’t take it off soon, but I could not let go of Noctis. I still needed to get him to safety and he was in no state to get that on his own.  
It rained, not too heavy nor soft, but constant. I was not sure of how many hours or how many steps I walked, but my body had too much and far more than enough.  
I collapsed.  
I am unsure of how, but I somehow managed to move Noctis so he stayed underneath me, as if in some last attempt of protecting him, like the raindrops were bullets instead.  
I lost consciousness, but between the little bits that you told me and the holes that Prompto helped me to fill into the story I believe I can recall things as they went.

You were first to see us, and you yelled for Prompto’s attention. Both of you hurried in our direction. It was your duty to see to Noctis first, but underneath me as he was, I had forced you to look at me first.  
And when you saw my face, you forgot about your duty for a moment.  
You hurried a Phoenix Down on me after giving instruction to Prompto for him to look after Noctis, and it worked for me to not die, but it did not heal me nor did it wake me up nor did it give me any strength. Still, you knew duty was first, even before mourning or before the love of your life, as we had agreed it would be for us both. You two decided that it was best if Prompto carried with Noctis, not because you particularly wanted to carry with me, but because of our sizes; smaller, Noctis weighted less than I, so it was only logical the strongest carried the heaviest.

And you did. You carried me. Hurried your jacket off and wrapped it around my shoulders despite how ridiculously wet we were. You picked me up from the ground and into your arms, and I was unconscious, almost dead was it not due to the Phoenix Down. My blood stained your clothes and skin, my head fell back and my arm hung loose and unresponsive.  
The two hurried back to the government palace, where they were attending the injured. And you roared for help; we had travelled our journey undercover, but as soon as you entered all that you did was to roar out for help. Because you were losing me; because that had been our last Phoenix Down and it had not woken me up, and you were scared I would need another one as soon as the effect of the first would fade, and if I died then no item or medicine could do anything about it.

And you carried me. Carried me across the ruins of Altissia, carried me into the palace, and you carried me into the room where they would attend me. And after that you carried me to the hotel, carried me to the room, and carried me to the bed. Because we didn’t have any other option. You did; you could have expected anybody else to do it, or just leave me in one place.  
But you didn’t it. No matter the obstacles, you carried me because you didn’t want ‘To leave him there’ to be an option.

 

The fourth important time was not any happier than the third, but at least nobody was bleeding and nobody was in danger, at least not immediate. There were ten years of difference between the third and the fourth time; some of those years we spent apart of each other, some others together. Things got profoundly difficult for the world and for our relationship. We parted ways more than once without really breaking up, only needing the space. You understand the situation so I will not go too profound into it. 

And then we got reunited, a few months before the return of our king and brother. We were there when he came back, and we tried to give him a good time together in the few days that he stayed. We laughed like in old times, we talked silly matters like we were still teenagers, and we were careless for a few moments. And I realized how agonizingly much I had missed you. It was like his presence cleared up the darkness and let us see how much we love each other, whether it’s you and I, or you and Prompto, and me and Noctis, and Noctis and Prompto and Prompto and I, and you with Noctis. It was almost like the presence of our king and brother was that light that made us see the real size and depth of the bond the four of us shared; it was never gone or broken nor did it ever grow smaller. We only could not see it without him.

And then we went back to Insomnia after ten years of war and darkness and sorrow and so many events in our lives. We crossed it together, we fought the terrors of the night together, we opened our path through it. Sometimes we would stop for a rest, to chat for a moment, to answer a few of his questions, to rememorize old times spent together. Prompto even retook his passion for taking photographs as we walked and as we fought together, like a team once again after so long.  
We made it to the Citadel. We got the impossible, and only the four of us managed to bring down an Astral. We got to the interior of the Citadel, chatted a little more, and walked much slower because, as prepared as we were, we really were not. Only doing things does one notice how hard it can be. But there are some things that simply cannot be put off as easily.  
We reached the doors we needed to open. Noctis travelled through some photographs Prompto was keeping with himself. I couldn’t see them, but you would describe them to me in whispers as Noctis passed through them. Sometimes you just needed to say ‘that once when we went here’ or ‘the once we did this’ and I needed no description to see the photograph in my head.

He picked one, we sighed, and he opened the doors. We faced the Chancellor. And then nothing for us. And when we woke up, Noctis was not there. We hurried to the outside, and he told us what had happened. And one of the two main duties he had to fulfill were done. Now he only needed to recover daylight.  
And he did. All that I did was to ask him to take care, not because I had the naïve and senseless hope that he would survive. Well…maybe, a small part of me did hope so. Senselessly, hopelessly, stupidly, naively, but I did hope so even if just in a one percent. But even if he did not, I wanted him to take care in whatever would come next for him. He was going somewhere I could not follow, so I could not protect him anymore; he would have to do it himself. So, ‘take care’.  
We accepted him as our king, and we bid our goodbye to him. He bid his own goodbye, and he turned onto his heels, went upstairs, and disappeared. 

I did sense the light when dawn broke, but I had never before felt as terribly in the dark as in that moment.

You said he looked very, very handsome in his funeral. We had gotten him prepared; shaved, cleaned, and dressed into what we had once hoped would be his wedding suit. I tried tracing his face with my fingers for about an hour or two, and his hands and his arms and his shoulders, and his hair and his ears, and his eyelids and eyebrows, trying to build a mental image. Ten years without him had been a torture for me, and I had missed him greatly. I had grown very content with my new lifestyle, but I profoundly hated to not be able to see him. He was more than just my little brother; he was almost like an extension of myself, or, as I like to put it better, I was an extension of him. We were part of each other. Except I depended on his existence, emotionally wise, more than he depended on mine.

I was able to stay firm and in one piece across the funeral. I could give my own speech without troubles, and only one or two tears.  
It was only after the ceremony and after everyone else had already left that I shattered.  
All my life had been dedicated to him; all that I ever did and learned was always for him. I was raised that way, to live my life for the sake of his. And now that his life was no more, in some way so wasn’t mine. My life was not senseless, but I had spent thirty-two years living for him so, when he died, all those thirty-two years collapsed as well. It was only logical I would break down and shatter with those years. 

I am unsure of how long I spent there, literally thrown in front of the altar where he laid. At times I was conscious, at times I was not. When I was not, it was not out of exhaustion or tiredness; it was literally out of pain. My heart and my soul pained and hurt so much, too much, to the point where it was unbearable and my mind switched me off because if I stayed awake standing that pain I would die out of it. I cried like I never, ever before in my life had done. It was hours, hours of tears and sobbing and some screaming. None of these hours was I able to stand on my feet. Sometimes I could be on my knees, but most of the hours I spent there I was simply thrown on the floor. It was already night when I started, and dawn when I could react to something that was not Noctis’ loss and the pain that I felt inside, so I couldn’t tell how long I spent there. .

Sometimes I was alone, because you understood I needed my space for this. Sometimes, you sat nearby but never touched me. By dawn, I had stopped crying but _now_ I was exhausted, more mentally and emotionally than physically. I breathed with some troubles, but calmly. You got close to me, and caressed my hair until I reacted and my blind eyes looked in your direction.  
“It’s dawn, darling” you whispered as softly as only you knew how to do it. “You should get some rest. Is it okay to leave now?”  
I looked away even though I could not see. It took me a few moments, and all that I could do was to nod weakly. But I didn’t move. It’s not that I didn’t stand up, it’s that I didn’t move a single inch. I was too emotionally drained to have any connection with my body.

And that’s why you carried me. You pulled me up until you got me to sit, and I could react a bit with my hands, except they were all stupid like I was just waking up from anesthesia effects. You shifted me to a better position, slipped your arms around my shoulders and under my legs, and you picked me up as effortlessly as you had always carried me all of our lives. My head rested against your shoulder; at least I had strength enough to keep it there instead of dropping it on dead weight like the rest of my body. I was feeling numb in every sense, so you carried me instead. You took me to our house, laid me and tucked me in our bed, caressed my hair and kissed my head, and you waited there until I could get some sleep. 

I knew you were brokenhearted, too. And yet, you gathered strength enough to carry me to safety, comfort and protection, in more senses that I could list.

 

The fifth is possibly the happiest of the times, despite it taking place only two years after the previous one.  
We took a year of recovery, and that was when you dropped the question. Like it was necessary to ask, like we did not know the answer already. I had not done it myself because I still felt that, as an Amicitia and hence head of the second most important family of the Lucian history, it was on you to choose a definitive partner. Not like I ever thought you would deny me, or like royal families had any importance now, but it felt morally right to leave it to you.

It was lovely. Nothing too extravagant, thankfully not through a prank, but nothing vulgar or rubbing on simplicity either. I did and do still feel a little sad that I did not get to see what the scenario looked like. Back then it was still crystal clear in my visual memory, the looks of our special park, at the south district of Insomnia, but I was still sad that I could not see it. From all the things that I did feel bad about my blindness, your proposal is still somewhere on top of the list. It was one of the happiest moments of my life, but the drop that spilled the glass and made me cry was that hint of sadness in among; what did the sky look like, how bright were the stars, had the park suffered many changed after Insomnia’s reconstruction, what the grass looked like, what color palette did our surrounding look like. Which colors you dressed…if you had a stray lock of hair you had not noticed hanging at your forehead…if you had grown any wrinkle by now…how did your new facial hairstyle fit you…

Your smile…dear, sweet, not-so-merciful gods, your _smile_ was always and will forever be number one in the list of things that do make me hate my blindness…

You picked me up the ground that day, too, but that is not the one that I’m counting. Not that it was not lovely, how you basically tackled me after I said Yes, picked me in arms and spun us around so many times you grew dizzy and we ended up stumbling and falling. Downhill. I loved it.  
It is just that it cannot compare to the moment of our wedding itself.

The ceremony was fantastic on its own. I was delighted to not sense you nervous; it made me feel like you were absolutely calm and entirely firm on this decision and it gave you absolutely no reasons to be any nervous. If anything, you only showed a bit of overwhelming of emotions when we met at the altar; Iris and Monica had taken long enough on me so that I felt extra confident, but I still wondered what you were seeing that made you gasp, then hold my face, and breathlessly whisper to me about how good I looked. This was another of those times when I did hate to be blind. I wished I could tell you the same without it having to be a joke or sarcasm. 

After the ceremony ended and after a few photos at the altar, we walked down the aisle to the doors of the temple, and we were received by our friends and family. The ones that the world let us keep. A family impossible to complete, but a blessing on its own. Besides their cheering and clapping, they received us at the doors with thousands of petals and confetti. Prompto, Talcott and Iris enjoyed throwing fistfuls that could hit us on the face on purpose, and all of us laughed. You got to grab Prompto by the back of his jacket, and that was all that it took for the three to run away screaming (after you let go of him) and stop their ambush. We still laughed and enjoyed some moments together, and we were asked to stay there for a few more photographs.

At some point we turned to face each other and kissed for a picture. We stood there, hands on each other, sometimes kissing and sometimes just staring. At some point, somebody screamed ‘Long live the newlyweds!’, and that’s when you laughed out of emotion and a joyed heart rather than out of amusement; while I grinned back, you bent down enough to wrap your arms around my hips, and you picked me up. It took me off guard at first, but I started laughing almost immediately, as happy and overjoyed as you were, and I wrapped my arms around your neck. I rested my forehead on yours, and allowed you to carry me by the hips, my thighs at each of your sides.  
“He said yes!” you yelled like instead of having just gotten married we had just gotten engaged. It made me laugh even more, quietly and softly but oh so dearly happy in yours arms.

And you didn’t put me down. You stayed like that for a couple minutes, carrying me. Sometimes you rocked side to side, and sometimes I reached down to kiss you, whether on the lips, or the eyes, or the nose, or the forehead. Our friends continued throwing petals on us, sometimes having to gather the ones already on the floor just to throw them again to complete the beautiful image we were forming. Time seemed to matter too little in that instant; it was you, you holding me, and I in your arms, us together, and us having just united our lives. Officially, that is; it is not like we ever had plans of giving up on our relationship. But to have an official pact of love, it’s strangely beautiful. I used to think in my youth that it was an unnecessary weight that made us promise eternal love out of compromise rather than free will. Maybe I too am metaphorically blinded by love, but…I believe I was wrong. It is not always just that.

Sometimes it’s a very beautiful and marvelous way of celebrating that decision of free will; we were not promising to start loving each other and start spending the rest of our lives together.  
We were already doing all that. A wedding was only a way to celebrate it. And, darling, I treasure our wedding on a place nearby the top of my other list, the one that contains my most beloved and treasured memories. 

They said that the loveliest photograph taken that day was from that moment; at the doors of the temple, a shower of ethereal-like petals around us, the perfect light, us smiling, and you, carrying me.

 

And here I am. Only once carrying you in a situation important enough to be worthy of mention and comparison to yours, not in feeling but in impact. Only once, only one important time did I carry you, but if we are talking about the impact, I believe that mine outstands and shadows all five of yours very easily. 

It feels a little silly, that what I’m thinking about is comparing the times and circumstances under which we carried each other. Competitive, like all life, so long it’s about you, my dear. But in that silly way, it feels a little unfair. You carried me five times more than I did, and so many more. You gifted me countless laughs, thousands of orgasms, saved my life, healed my injuries, took care of me, took me places and so much more by carrying me, all in different circumstances, but all so caring, so loving, so correct and so right, and so wonderful and so sincere. You never once complained, even when you had to stop working-out and your muscles started to grow smaller. Never once did you complain, and you did not usually have to wait until I asked you so you could carry me. You always did it because you wanted to, never complaining, you gifted me such sweet and wonderful moments that started or ended or happened with you carrying me, you did it many thousands of times, five important ones…

…and here I am, having waited too long, and getting the chance to do it only once. One of the saddest parts, my darling, is that I couldn’t even do it alone. Your muscles could have grown smaller, but they for sure did not entirely disappear, and you have always been a very big and tough creature. Maybe in younger days I could have done it, with the appropriate method. But my back maybe would not stand now. I still could have tried, but the method to carry someone bigger than yourself is not the most respectful or correct for this situation. You always carried me on your own; only your two strong arms, only you. And I, in this unfair payback I give, don’t have the strength or the morality to do it like you; personal, private, only something shared between the two.

Talcott’s son helped me with the lower part of your body. It would have been easier if he had carried the upper part, but I insisted to do it myself. I feel like every day I become more like a stubborn obstacle for everyone. But I believe they understand my sentimentalism in this situation. 

And there you lie, my dear soul, on gladioli and irises, and a few sylleblossoms, on the altar of the temple for everyone to admire and bid goodbye before cremation. 

It is a Lucian tradition, unlike Niflheim; we incinerate as the usual method and we bury as the unusual one. Our ashes ascend to the skies and it frees our souls from the body, and the smoke helps them to become ethereal and cross to the other side and the whatever exists after death.  
I do have to admit that, as much as I believed it a beautifully tragic process, only now I feel a little sad in a fully egocentric way that I will have no physical something to cry to, other than a golden plate with your name on it. A plate I can’t even _see,_ with letters I can’t even _read._

My old man. Oh, my sweet, dear heart. I know you were exhausted. I know you were so tired. That’s death, and death is, ironically, part of life. We cannot avoid it. When it’s our turn, that’s it. Just like Noctis, and his unavoidable fate. Like Prompto, our sweet little brother, dead too young and still a fresh wound almost four decades later. Sometimes, after Noctis’ death, I had spooky and terrifying thoughts about how the four of us would leave. Prompto was an easy answer; his biology did not let him go much further mid-fifties. The gods bless and take care of his soul. He deserved that rest, for much that I hated seeing him go.  
And we stood together, the two of us, having outlived our little brothers.  
And we grew older together. Sixties, seventies, eighties.  
Ninety-three is a very beautiful number. I think it will have a pretty aesthetic look on the biographies that they make about Gladiolus Amicitia, brave Shield of the King of Light. 

I tried tracing your features like I did with Noctis, tried to feel everything. But the more the years passed, the harder it is to recall any visual memory. I am old. It is not as simple anymore. It’s been long since I could last remember with perfect accuracy your face. Your smile. Your oh so precious, so dearly beloved smile…  
I felt wrinkles. So many of them. Which made me smile because wrinkles mean that you made a lot of facial expressions, which means you laughed a lot, and cried, and made silly faces and lived a lot. There’s hair, very short, like your father kept it in his last days, too. I was too scared of touching your eyes, and even though I did not say it aloud, I think it was because I was scared of not sensing any life underneath the eyelids. It’s almost as if a tiny grain of sand in the endless ocean of certainty still has the senseless hope that you will sit up, yawn, and come carry me back home. 

They say you’re in your wedding suit. I wouldn’t know; I couldn’t see it back then, and I can't see it now.  
On a side, this is another of those moments in which I hate being blind, because it does not allow me to carry a last memory of yours to carry with me for however long I still have to live. On another side, this is another of those moments for which I’m grateful that I’m blind. Because I’m not sure I could stand to see you there, and know it’s not you anymore. And see you lifeless. It would confirm this as real, and I would not stand that. Seventy years since my injury, and for the first time I’m grateful, but not happy, that I cannot see you. It would confirm this as real, and I would not stand that.

And that’s how silly it is, that it crossed my mind the unimportant comparison of the times you carried me and how I’m paying back. Carrying you from the symbolic coffin out and onto the altar set for the last viewing. My payback is poor and completely unfair; you gave me sweet and happy moments, and I gave you this incredibly sad, lonely one. You gave me privacy and intimacy, and the only time I carry you I couldn’t even do it alone. Poorly, unfairly, miserably, I did it.

But I think that the saddest part of them all is that you won’t even know that I did it.

I have always felt I gave you a pebble of love, and you gave me back a mountain. You always reassured me you felt the same way, which had to mean we were even and equal. But with thoughts like this I can’t help but wonder if I really demonstrated across my life how dearly I loved you like you did oh so wonderfully to demonstrate it to me. Thoughts as silly as how many times and under which circumstances we carried each other.

Like in Noctis’ funeral, it’s been hours since the last person that said goodbye left. Unlike that day, Prompto isn’t and couldn’t be sat nearby. So aren’t you. Even if I wanted or needed, I don’t think my weak body could do such a thing like lying in front of the altar. I barely sit without any effort. 

So, instead, I’m sat at the bench closest to the altar. I don’t even glance your way. With two useless eyes, it makes absolutely no sense. It used to make sense, it used to feel important, to glance your way and make eye contact even if I was blind. But, for some reason, this just…has no sense to me now. Glancing ways, it feels so senseless and stupid now, ridiculous. So empty.  
I’m resting both my hands on top of my cane. I had to retake it not only to walk on difficult bones of the legs, but also because of my blindness. It’s been decades since I had to retake it, so I’m used by now. It’s not like in younger days, when I could sense and move as freely as if I could see. I’m old. I can’t sense. I almost can’t hear. And I most definitely can’t see.  
My head is down. I’ve been silent for hours, unlike Noctis’ funeral. Sometimes I do cry, and they help me clean my face and nose. Some other times I just do this; I sit here in complete silence.

After what felt like an eternity but barely five minutes at the same time, I feel a hand on top of my head, that caresses my white and weak hair with tender, almost motherly care. She _is_ a mother, after all.  
Our daughter caresses my hair and reaches to kiss my temple. I do nothing. I say nothing. I just keep my hands on the cane, the head down, as if though I too had died or as if I had a turn-off switch and I was currently not functioning.  
Our daughter says nothing for a moment. Our grandkids were present for many hours, too, but most have left for a well needed rest. These young adults have been taking turns to look after the stubborn and brokenhearted grandpa that refuses to do or say anything and has spent exhaustive hours sat there. 

My daughter stands behind me, behind the bench, but caresses my arms. Her hands are like yours. Or at least they remind me of you. Or maybe I’m just thinking too much about you, and she’s just a greater reminder of you. 

“He was exhausted” she whispers very tenderly to me. I say nothing. I do nothing.  
I know. You _were_ exhausted. We all have a time to go, we cannot choose that. I know you wanted to die at the same time I would, you told me. But I cannot control it, and I was cursed with living longer. I believe now I understand how the Marshal, rest in peace, must have felt back in his days. I thought I was empathetic enough and could understand him when he outlived Prompto. Turns out that only _now_ do I really understand what I think he must have felt. Nobody can tell the pain of losing everybody you love, no matter how empathetic and understanding, until it’s you. 

But I understand. Your strength had started to fail you; your heart, too. And ninety is old enough, at least in these times. It was only natural. And after all that you lived, after the weight of your duty, after the great pains you’ve been through, after living with strength, courage and truth in your life, after these wonderful decades of a calm life, a good rest is always well deserved.  
Your legs had started to tire after all the walking of your life. Your arms had started to tire after all the hugs you gave. With all the love you spread and gifted, it was only natural that your heart, too, grew tired and needed a rest. 

My dearest. My piece of soul. My moogle nose. Oh, darling, darling, I know you were exhausted. And I do not blame you for it. I am not upset at you for leaving without me. If anything, I am happy that, if we could not leave together, then you were first to go. At least, that way, you would not have to live through my loss. You deserved this calm death, surrounded by the people that love you, your love holding your hand. At least, that way, you would not have to die with the painful memory of my loss weighting down on you. At least, that way, you were accompanied. At least, that way, you did not suffer.

I can take that for you.

Our daughter reaches down to press a kiss to the top of my head, before letting go and going to sit somewhere else while staying nearby; like you, knowing I need my space but not leaving me alone either. I barely hear her talking in whispers with one of her kids, though ‘kids’ is something they’re not. I hear somebody stand up from the bench and then quiet footsteps that grow quieter. I quickly assume she came to replace one of our grandkids, he or she has left to rest, while our daughter stays to look after me. ‘Grandpa is brokenhearted’ I heard her murmur to someone, hours, hours ago, ‘so we have to be with him and see if he needs anything, okay?’

I do am grateful for that, but I’m hating how it feels. That they’re taking turns to look after me, it makes me wonder if I’ve really turned into a stubborn old man that’s far much more an obstacle than anything else. I feel like so. 

Besides, it is not like I need them to look after me. Not because I’m stubborn and refuse the help. It’s only that they think that I’m brokenhearted.

Oh, darling. How could they know?

I cannot be brokenhearted. I need a heart for it to break, and mine died with you.


End file.
